


Fight and Fool Around

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alley Sex, Alternate Universe, Bartender Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Dean Has a Sexuality Crisis, Fighting Kink, Fights, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horny Dean, M/M, Marking, Mutual Masturbation, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Professionals Being Unprofessional, Rain Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Dean enters a bar looking for a fight, but instead discovers he's bisexual, gives his first handjob in an alleyway - and then leaves with a hickey, sex hair, and the bartender for a boyfriend.(in which Dean mistakes wanting to bang dudes with wanting to fight them)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was adapted from a deleted scene in my upcoming Christmas fic, and I thought it would be a waste to scrap the concept altogether, so this sin of a thing happened.
> 
> Beta'd by my faithful friends [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) and [Mittens](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/), who are more knowledgeable about raspberry jello shots than I. ♥

“Hit me.”

 

“Excuse me?” Castiel looked up from his side of the bar, pausing with one hand and a towel inside a glass.

 

Dean Winchester sat down on a stool opposite Castiel. “Hit me,” he said again. “Raspberry jello shot.”

 

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “No beer this time?”

 

Dean pursed his lips in a shrugging way. “Ain’t in that kinda mood.”

 

Castiel fetched Dean his raspberry jello shot from the refrigerator, all the while wondering: if Dean was not in the mood for beer (or what always followed beer: a flirtatious game of pool with an attractive girl), what could a raspberry jello shot possibly indicate about Dean’s state of mind?

 

“Just the one shot?” Castiel queried, finding it strange.

 

“Not trying to get drunk; just dig the taste,” Dean answered, taking his shot and squeezing its plastic container. He shoved his tongue past the jello’s edge, wound it around the perimeter with a playful groan, then slurped the jello down his throat. “Mmh. Tangy.”

 

“Anything else, or are you content to take up room in my bar until you decide to leave?”

 

Dean smirked, scratching at his two-day stubble. “You bored of my company already, Cas?”

 

Castiel smiled in a non-answer, since any answer would be telling. In truth, he adored seeing Dean take up half his view of the tiny bar. He was even partial to Dean’s corny Christmas jokes, five weeks too early to be relevant. But if Dean planned on spending the night chatting up another girl, buying her a single drink before taking her home, Castiel would be as upset as he had every other time Dean had done exactly that.

 

Castiel wasn’t completely sure why it bothered him so much. Dean, like nearly every man who sat at this bar, was driven by his desire to have sex with women. He came here to buy drinks, and buy drinks he did. He’d find a girl he’d like to sleep with, he’d make her fall in love a little bit, and then he’d leave with the girl under his arm. It was a sleazy practice, but there was nothing unusual about it.

 

But like every Friday night, Castiel let his eyes linger on Dean, while Dean fiddled with the red tinsel adorning the edge of the bar. Castiel forgot to finish wiping around the edges of the sink, because he was busy appreciating the red leather jacket Dean wore tonight. Castiel felt his heart sing – sweetly, like a well-fed canary – whenever Dean turned his attention from the other bar-goers back to Castiel.

 

“Hit me again,” Dean said, giving Castiel an upward nod. “Make it apple. I think it’s go-time.”

 

Castiel fetched an apple-flavoured jello shot, all the while hoping Dean hadn’t spotted a girl already.

 

Castiel liked to pretend he took issue with Dean ordering very few drinks, and leaving before he ordered more. But that wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was the big, sad, heart-pounding _ache_ in Castiel’s chest when Dean thanked him for the shots, put down some cash, then promptly hopped off the barstool to go chase tail.

 

Castiel watched forlornly as Dean swaggered up to the nearest pool table, hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was a pretty young lady already mid-game, her dyed blue hair cascading over one shoulder, both straps of her top hanging down her arms. She looked up inquisitively, hearing something Dean said. She smiled.

 

And then, out of the shadows, loomed a man, his jaw as wide as his neck, his eyes set intently on Dean. Dean seemed unperturbed by the menacing way the other man leaned in. But not only was he unruffled—

 

Castiel stood up straight in alarm, seeing the way Dean lurched towards the bigger man. A tease, offering himself as bait. What the hell was he doing? Did he _want_ a fight?!

 

His opponent grabbed Dean by the jacket, pulling him closer. Dean just grinned, still as cocky as ever. But he raised no hands in surrender, nor did he stop _talking_. 

 

Dean just bit his lip, easing himself ever-closer to his aggressor. They were nearly nose-to-nose, and Dean’s attention was all on the man’s lips, while the other guy glared right into Dean’s downturned eyes. Dean was grinning lazily, almost... _flirtatiously_.

 

Chills set in, and Castiel found himself frozen to the spot.

 

Whatever Dean said next, it was clearly the last straw. The man shoved Dean back three feet, and Castiel heard him say, “Get out of my face.”

 

“You were the one who pulled me there, hombre,” Dean replied, moving closer again.

 

He was shoved again, this time stumbling so far back he hit another customer’s table, startling its occupants. Dean got back up, apologised to the diners, and rounded back on the bull of a man, staring him down.

 

“Dean,” Castiel called, offended that Dean would pull something like this _right in front of him_. Dean may have been a regular at this bar, but that didn’t give him the right—

 

The man punched Dean right across the face, and for once brutal second, Castiel actually thought Dean deserved it. But sense struck him soon after, and in a rush, Castiel vacated his post, lifting part of the worktop to leave. He hurried across the room in a half-jog, shocked to see Dean trying to take on this brute, both hands grasping his collar, repeatedly kneeing the man in the thigh.

 

“Dean!” Castiel yelped, trying to remove Dean's steady grip from the man’s clothes. “Dean, let _go_.”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Dean said, too playfully. “Kinda in the middle of somethin’, Cas.”

 

“Fuckin’ asshole,” the other customer said, eyes on fire with what Castiel saw as completely justified anger. “The hell do you think you’re playing at?”

 

“What does it look like, huh?” Dean laughed, shoving the man in the chest, even as Castiel attempted to forcibly remove Dean from his reach. “That all you got? Come at me!”

 

“Dean, stop,” Castiel pleaded, placing himself between Dean and the other guy. The other guy was clearly the saner of the two; he backed down and returned to his girlfriend’s side, muttering to himself. But Dean was still trying to rush at him, and it took all Castiel’s strength to reel Dean in and restrain his eagerly-lurching arms.

 

Finally registering that he was being held back, Dean turned his fight on Castiel, shoving him by the shoulders.

 

Oh, no. If Dean thought _that_ was going to slide, he was out of his mind.

 

The barkeeper version of Castiel vanished in a breath. His eyes darkened, his muscles grew bolder, and with one easy grab, he took Dean by the front of his t-shirt and dragged him towards the back exit.

 

“Hey— Hey! Cas! Go easy!”

 

“I’ll go easy once you explain yourself,” Castiel said fiercely, hauling Dean into a short poster-covered hallway, out of the view of customers. “And only then, maybe.” When Dean dared swing a punch, forcing Castiel to release him— Oh, Castiel was beyond furious. He was livid, red-hot, boiling inside like lava. He took Dean by the wrist and kicked open the fire door, hurling him into the back alley, where floodlights illuminated the darkness of night.

 

The fire door clapped shut behind them, but Castiel ignored it: he charged at Dean, slamming his body against the wall. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? Are you drunk? High? What gives you the gall, what gives you the _right_ —”

 

Dean struggled, shoving a hand into Castiel’s face, pushing him back until Castiel had to break away for air. Dean breathed out a laugh, pushing at Castiel with a small jump.

 

“Oh, you think this is a joke?” Castiel seethed, one eyebrow raised sharply. “You think this is a game, Dean Winchester? What do you think is stopping me from calling the cops?”

 

Dean huffed, and his smile died quickly. “What?”

 

“You started a fight in my bar. Why? What did that man do that was so terrible?”

 

“Wh— Nothing,” Dean said, flinching slightly as Castiel grasped both his shoulders. “Dude, I just wanna fight, is that so bad?” With that, he swung both arms in mirrored windmills under Castiel’s, knocking both away. Castiel moved in just as quickly, pinning Dean to the wall once more.

 

“ _Is that so bad_ ,” Castiel repeated, disbelieving. “Do you even hear yourself? You assaulted someone! And you assaulted me!”

 

Dean’s grin was dimming by the second; he didn’t look at all enthused now. “Cas... Cas, chill out.”

 

Castiel glared at Dean in utter incomprehension. “You’ve always been so rational, Dean. That was one of the things I... one thing I liked about you.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose, and his gaze softened. “You like me?”

 

Castiel tilted his head, unsure if he could be more baffled than he was now. He slowly let Dean go, and Dean slid an inch down the wall. Castiel kept him in place, though, both hands gripping his wide biceps.

 

With a soft _pit, pat_ on Dean’s leather jacket, it began to rain. Cold, petite specks landed on Castiel’s ears and hands, damping his shirtsleeves ever so slightly. Dean breathed out through his open mouth, and it emerged in a cloud.

 

“Explain this to me, Dean,” Castiel said, trying to be patient. “Give me a good reason not to have you arrested.”

 

Dean swallowed, eyes dipping to Castiel’s lips before licking his own.

 

“I just wanted to throw a few punches,” Dean shrugged. “C’mon, it’s dude stuff. Bar fights. Happens all the time.”

 

“Not in _my_ bar,” Castiel growled.

 

Dean blinked rapidly, looking ashamed – but at the same time, confused. “Where do you go when you wanna fight?”

 

Castiel’s lips rounded on unspoken questions. “Pardon me?”

 

“Bet you take out a punching bag or somethin’, right,” Dean teased. “All by yourself.”

 

“That would be a sensible option, yes,” Castiel reasoned. He squeezed Dean’s arms again, reminding him why they were out here.

 

“Look,” Dean said, voice cracking, “I was just in the mood, all right? I saw the chick, I saw the guy, I figured he was the kinda person to defend his girl with his fists. Figured he’d take me out back and pummel me into the dirt. Kinda like you were trying to do a minute ago.” His breath clouded faster, panting. He grinned again, eyes lowering to Castiel’s lips.

 

“You expected him to attack you,” Castiel intoned.

 

“Well, duh.”

 

“Because you wanted to fight.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Hey, you could take me. C’mon— How ‘bout it, Cas? One round. First to the floor loses.”

 

“I’m not going to fight you, Dean.”

 

“You don’t even have to hurt me! I won’t hurt you back, promise. Just— Just rough me up a bit.”

 

Castiel stared blankly.

 

“Come _on_ ,” Dean urged. “Don’t you get like this? Friday night, moping at home, nothin’ better to do...”

 

“Wait,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “No. Dean, let me get this straight. You were lonely... so you decide to come out to my bar, buy yourself a drink—?”

 

“Find the right guy...” Dean went on, tipping his head as if to indicate something else. “If the rest of the night went how I envisioned it, me ‘n him would be out here right now. Couple bruises on each of us, hearts pounding, adrenaline pumping... maybe I’d rip his shirt, maybe he’d rip my shirt...” Dean’s eyes drifted, as if lost in a daydream. Face flushed, he sucked on his lower lip. “Mm.”

 

“Dean...” Castiel said softly, finally understanding what Dean was trying to do.

 

“Maybe then,” Dean continued, as tiny raindrops collected on his eyelashes, “one or both of us would tap out. Maybe, uh, friendly clap on the back. Y’know. Good game, sport. I’d get myself another drink. Get him a drink too.”

 

“Dean, do you even realise—”

 

“Then I’d limp home,” Dean finished. “B... by myself.” His imaginings seemed to end there, abruptly, as he realised his fantasy didn’t end the way he wanted it to. He blinked twice, flinging loose a rainbow fleck of water. His eyes were now downcast, his lower lip caught under his teeth in an unsure expression.

 

“You know, that... doesn’t sound so fun when I say it like that,” Dean said. His voice sounded hollow. “Uhm.”

 

“What did you really want to glean from this?” Castiel asked, softly. He didn’t feel any need for anger any more.

 

Dean’s exhale came ragged, gusting sideways over Castiel’s wrist. Castiel still held Dean in place, now more for support than for restraint.

 

“Wh...” Dean shivered, perhaps due to cold, perhaps anxiety. He looked into Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel saw fear in Dean’s. Perplexion. Then defeat.

 

He huffed, then slowly cast his darkened eyes away.

 

Then he glanced at Castiel’s mouth, lips parted. And he turned his chin down, embarrassed.

 

“I— I wanna have sex,” Dean said, in a tone of realisation. He seemed distraught all of a sudden, then scowled in _disgust_. “I was fuckin’ _horny_? This whole time?!”

 

Castiel smiled, reaching to touch Dean’s neck in a reassuring gesture.

 

Dean swallowed, meeting Castiel’s eyes one more time. He looked terrified. “Cas... I...”

 

“It’s okay,” Castiel said gently, nosing in closer. The cloud of his breath rushed past Dean’s chin. “Sometimes complex feelings and emotions aren’t the easiest to distinguish.”

 

“It’s not the same with girls,” Dean said in a rush. “With girls I know I wanna bang, but... with guys...” He breathed out, eyes roaming Castiel’s face, halting twice on his lips. Dean licked his own lips, helpless to hide his interest. “With guys I just wanna... I dunno...”

 

“Fight?” Castiel offered.

 

Dean nodded. “Always thought it was weird when I got a boner in wrestling club.”

 

Castiel laughed, nearly headbutting Dean. “Wrestling?”

 

“Fuckin’ love wrestling.” Dean shivered again, hands moving to curl around Castiel’s, in seemingly a self-comforting way. “Guess now I know why.” He bowed his head. “Oh, god. I like dudes. I like _dudes_.”

 

“Congratulations,” Castiel said.

 

“I just kinda thought— I assumed I was only into _you_ , I didn’t realise...” Dean looked terribly flustered, now that confession had escaped his mouth. “Shit.”

 

“Oh,” Castiel said.

 

“Shit, Cas, no, I didn’t mean to say that—”

 

“It’s all right,” Castiel assured him. “Dean, it’s okay, I like you too.”

 

Dean’s eyes shot up, focused so intently on Castiel’s that Castiel nearly backed away. But he didn’t, because this was Dean Winchester, and he was looking at Castiel like _that_.

 

Castiel had long ago stopped holding Dean back. Now, in the space of a heartbeat, Dean pushed into Castiel’s space and kissed him, both hands sliding into his hair. Dean made a sound of surprise at the feeling, then moaned and relaxed his shoulders, hips lifting off the wall to press against Castiel.

 

Castiel breathed out, stunned, feeling Dean separate from his lips. As Castiel lapped at his lips now, he felt Dean’s warmth lingering, as well as the taste of his saliva, and fruity jello shots. They gazed at each other, oblivious to the dots of rain that drifted through their mingling clouds.

 

Dean began to smile, one hand sweeping from Castiel’s damp hair to his neck, then reaching with a thumb to stroke Castiel’s stubbly jaw. Dean grinned up one side of his face, mouth drawing open in awe. “Huh,” he remarked.

 

“What?” Castiel asked.

 

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Your peach fuzz makes me all... tingly.”

 

“Does it, now,” Castiel teased, leaning in again. Dean give a quiet cry of delight as Castiel pushed in close, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s cheek, blasting away the numbness of cold. As Castiel closed his mouth on Dean’s skin for the third time, Dean gave an alarmingly loud moan of pleasure. Despite the muggy cover of rain, the cry echoed down the alleyway.

 

Castiel pulled back, gazing into Dean’s dark-eyed face. Dean was fully turned on, lips plump, legs shaking. He was actually trembling in Castiel’s arms. His lower back had arched so his body was as close to Castiel’s as possible. Legs apart, bowed either side of Castiel’s knees.

 

“Right here,” Dean nodded, licking his lips, moving in for a quick kiss. “Right here, Cas. I ain’t waitin’.”

 

Castiel felt a strike of horror and excitement as he realised what Dean meant. Castiel looked back over his shoulder, only to see the completely-closed door of the bar. He peered down the single-exit alleyway, but there was nobody there, and steam rising from a grate covered the view in. They had relative privacy, but still Castiel whispered, “Someone might see.”

 

“Don’t care,” Dean uttered, kissing Castiel’s throat. “Don’t care, don’t care, just do it.”

 

“You’re more reckless than I thought,” Castiel said, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

 

“You’re more chickenshit than I thought,” Dean countered. He hesitated, then added, “You do want to, right?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel said, without hesitation. God, he’d wanted to for so long.

 

Dean grinned, moving in to bite Castiel’s lip, dragging it. “C’mon. Rough me up while you’re at it.”

 

Castiel laughed, headbutting the side of Dean’s head. “All right. All right, fine.” One hand lowered between their bodies, and Castiel undid the belt buckle on Dean’s jeans. He yanked it until it loosened completely, then thumbed the button undone. Dean squirmed in place, his breath uneven, hands working excitedly through Castiel’s hair.

 

Castiel pressed his body within inches of Dean’s, checking one last time if anyone was looking. Not a soul in sight – but Castiel could hear distant voices. Not too close...

 

Heart thumping, Castiel looked down between him and Dean, and slid his hand into Dean’s underwear. Dean purred out an exclamation, hips grinding in mid-air. Castiel felt a tangle of pubic hair, surprisingly well-conditioned – and as he went lower, his fingertips touched the soft, soft skin of Dean’s penis. As Castiel pulled Dean’s erection from his pants, he felt how truly stiff it was, plump and hardening from within. Dean gasped as Castiel gave it an initial tug.

 

Castiel looked up, gladdened to see raw excitement in Dean’s eyes. His lips hung open, breathing out in startled little huffs. Castiel let Dean’s penis fill the space in his palm, and gently he dragged it, all the way to the tip. He loved that moment, the spark in Dean’s eyes as he fully comprehended the scandal of this act, a first kiss, a first touch, bodies still stinging from what might’ve been their first fight. Anyone might hear them cry out, anyone might hear the whimper Dean released as Castiel’s hand settled into a rhythm.

 

Castiel felt his own erection swelling against his thigh, and he leaned against Dean, hoping to ease some pressure by humping him. Dean made a shaky noise, looking down to watch. This must all be so new for him. Castiel could only imagine how shocked Dean had been to discover he’d lied to himself all his life without realising, always explaining away his feelings as something else. Maybe wanting Castiel right here, right now, was Dean’s way of rectifying things. He’d gone years never touching men the way he wanted to, and now that he could, he _would_.

 

Castiel was so unbelievably grateful it had been him out here, shoving Dean against a wall, not the other guy. Dean would’ve gone home bruised and unfulfilled, without realising what he truly craved.

 

“Mh, like that, like that,” Dean gasped out, head tipping back against the wall. He grunted, frowning, then laughed a single breathy note. “Yeah. Yeah. Sh-shit...” He gripped Castiel’s head harder, bringing him closer, demanding kisses on his neck. Castiel obliged, rocking the tip of his nose against Dean’s earlobe. He felt the vibration as Dean groaned.

 

Castiel made sure to rub his facial hair against Dean’s, since that made him literally weak in the knees. Castiel took great satisfaction in making Dean whine.

 

He sucked on Dean’s neck, swallowing, nipping and teasing at the skin roughly, wanting to leave a mark. Dean tilted his head, encouraging Castiel to do what he liked, making the mark more obvious. Soon Dean had a messy-looking hickey on the side of his neck, and Castiel kissed it, unsure why he felt a thrill at seeing Dean bruised like that. He didn’t question it. Dean was _his_ now, and branding him was just something Castiel wanted to do. His claim had been staked.

 

When Castiel started to feel precome sliding down the side of his fist, he looked down, watching Dean’s chest swell and shrink as he breathed deeply, panting. His jeans were slipping off his wide hips, part-way down his thighs now. He stood with one boot on the ground, the other knee raised to try and hook over Castiel’s leg, always wanting him closer.

 

“Let me,” Dean whispered, smothering Castiel’s jaw in kisses. “I— I wanna jack you off too.”

 

Castiel heard the hesitancy in Dean’s voice. Dean heard it too, and quickly amended, with confidence, “Let me touch you.”

 

Castiel nodded, and tried his best to keep his hand on Dean while Dean got busy undoing Castiel’s jeans. Castiel didn’t watch; he turned his eyes to the sky, staring into darkness past the glare of the floodlight, gentle rain coming down like a hundred falling stars, each a tiny dot upon Castiel’s cheeks.

 

Castiel shut his eyes and moaned into his closed mouth, feeling the first touch of Dean’s hand around his erection. Such a relief, firstly – pressure disappeared, taken by five brave fingers and a sure grip. Then came the experimental tugging; Dean wasn’t used to such a stubborn girth, since even when hard, Dean was slightly smaller. Castiel felt his body flood with fire as Dean learned how to move his hand to match the curve of Castiel’s erection, strengthening Castiel’s arousal, making him burn up with lust, sweating in flashes down his back.

 

Castiel bowed his head, gasping against Dean’s ear. “Good. Incredible,” he whispered, smooching the cartilage of Dean’s ear, relishing the oily, cinnamon scent of his hair. “Fuck, yes – _Dean_.”

 

Dean’s breath shuddered. “Say my name,” he breathed.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean chuckled. “Say it sexy.”

 

“Deeean?”

 

Dean laughed out loud, fingers slipping in pre-come over Castiel’s cockhead. “I— I meant...” He sighed, grinning against Castiel’s cheek. “Never mind.”

 

Dean’s fingers began to explore the veins under Castiel’s erection, fingernails no doubt leaving trails behind – Castiel only felt the sensation, like stardust coursing through him, centred on these tiny, moving points of pleasure. Dean thumbed the swollen ridges at the very tip, he pulled down Castiel’s foreskin—

 

“Guhh _Dea_ aaan, yes yes yes,” Castiel gasped, open mouth dragging over Dean’s ear. “Muh. Yes. Mhh.”

 

“That’s more like it,” Dean uttered, leaving sweet smooches at the junction between Castiel’s jaw and ear. “That’s it. Sexy bastard. You like that?”

 

Castiel just nodded. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Ouh-h shit— Dean!”

 

Dean chuckled, then moaned, just as their hands synchronised, pulses of desire raging between their bodies; their fists fitted back-to-back, knuckles interlocking like the teeth of a zipper. They pulled and thrust their fists in time, gasping expletives into each other’s faces, barely able to see through the haze in their eyes. At least, Castiel assumed Dean saw the same lust-blinded blurs as he did; the heat between them was so immense that clouds were no longer formed by their breaths. Beside them, however, the world seemed full of their steam, hazed by rain and evaporation and a sense of electricity they charged with every movement.

 

Dean pushed his face against Castiel’s, just to rub on his stubble. Castiel purred and nuzzled back, leaving kisses like promises all down Dean’s temple, on his blushing cheek.

 

“Ah—” Dean cried out excitedly, maybe feeling his peak approaching, maybe just a surge of physical bliss as Castiel focused his efforts on his cockhead, tugging over and over across his urethra. “Cas— Nhh, _Cas_ —”

 

“Quiet,” Castiel reminded him. “Stay quiet. People live around here. They’ll hear you.”

 

“Whole world could hear me,” Dean huffed back, fearlessly, “I love this. I love this. Fuckin’ touch me. C’mon.”

 

“If we get in trouble, what then?” Castiel asked, panting into Dean’s mouth, kissing him, nibbling him with toothless, smoochy bites. “What if we never got to do this again?”

 

“Don’t,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. “Don’t make me think about that, shut up.”

 

Castiel grinned, licking Dean’s mouth open, pushing him hard against the wall and taking the kiss he wanted, angry and hungry and powerful. Castiel swept his hands off Dean, took Dean’s slick hands in his own, and pressed them against the wall. Dean mewled at the loss, then growled deeply to make up for such a pitiful sound – then sagged in relief as Castiel began moving against him, rutting directly against Dean’s erection. Dean’s jeans were draped between his mid-thighs, though Castiel’s own jeans stayed snug around his rear. He was exposed only where he touched Dean: cock to cock, hipbone to hipbone. Castiel’s scrotum bumped at Dean’s upper thighs, displacing thin, tufty hairs.

 

Dean crooned, gazing at Castiel with dizzy, hooded eyes, mouth open, a bright blush on his cheeks. One of Castiel’s hands gradually slipped out of Dean’s, trailing down his body. He reached Dean’s hips, then travelled back up, under Dean’s t-shirt.

 

“Oh my God—” Dean tipped his head down, watching in awe as Castiel’s hand tented his shirt, finding a nipple to play with. Dean’s lips pulled into an unexpected mask of pleasure, eyes half-closed. “Oh... oh, _shhhit_...” He gazed directly at Castiel, apparently shocked he had the power to made him feel like that.

 

Castiel shuffled a half-step closer, completely pressing Dean’s body to the wall. With one hand bracing Dean’s hip, the other still working his nipple, Castiel began humping Dean in earnest, grunting, thigh muscles burning from how long he’d gone without relaxing. He just kept going, rolling against Dean’s form, stiff cock slipping through drooling pre-come and rain and sweat. Dean shook and shivered, accepting the onslaught with wanton glee; Castiel took his tremors and tiny bleats of satisfaction as a positive response. 

 

Dean gradually grew more and more speechless, more shaky, more grabby. He wrapped both arms behind Castiel’s neck and held him close, just shaking around him as Castiel pushed him to completion. Dean breathed silently against Castiel’s shoulder, over and over, until he didn’t breathe at all.

 

Castiel felt Dean’s ejaculate spill between their bodies, spurt after spurt riding up underneath Castiel’s shirt, splashing his belly. Its warmth quickly trickled down, smeared between their skin; Castiel dared not stop, too close to his own peak. Dean started huffing again, making soft sounds of contentment. His fingers threaded through Castiel’s hair, and soon came kisses, smacks and smooches along Castiel’s neckline, along with warm breath and whispered words.

 

“So good,” Dean muttered one moment – and the next, “so fuckin’ dirty, so fuckin’ into this, _uohh_ —” followed by a shuddering hum, hitched breath, and a sigh of “Mhh, Cas...”

 

Castiel wet his lips, allowing his hand to trail down Dean’s body, leaving Dean’s nipple erect. Dean gave a grunt of complaint, but Castiel had other matters to attend to: he took hold of his own erection now, since Dean was thoroughly spent – Castiel could only imagine his continued thrusting was making him sore. So Castiel masturbated instead, grunting on each firm tug.

 

He buried his face against Dean’s neck, shamelessly breathing in his scent, using it to fuel his last movements. Dean smelt like engine oil, rain, and salted caramel, and the combination made Castiel feel like he was sparkling. Sparkling, in a way far removed from lust. Just a sweet and tender kind of tingle. For a moment, his heart felt like it was flying.

 

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, nuzzling Dean’s shoulder. “Mmmmmm.”

 

“You got this, babe,” Dean whispered back. He twitched. “Buddy. C’mon, buddy.”

 

Castiel laughed at Dean’s petty attempt at finding a term of endearment, a laugh which only served to singe him from the inside out, burning hot all at once, until he gasped, gripping Dean’s hair—

 

Castiel came hard, unable to stop the shout of exhilaration that coursed through him – the sound echoed like Dean’s had, and Castiel immediately chilled with shame, but only a moment later, flushed hot again: Dean kissed his lips, hands stroking his hair back.

 

“Mmm,” Dean groaned, tilting his head. Their lips locked, mouthing at each other slowly, deeply. Castiel pushed Dean to the wall again, but this time calmly, rocking him. They smiled against each other, and they broke their kiss, grinning.

 

“What was that you were saying?” Dean asked, still short of breath. “About, uh, doing this again?”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, feeling the raindrops patter heavier and more frequently against his back. “I can’t remember,” he said, truthfully. “How about I say yes. Let’s do this again.”

 

“Mm. Fine by me, babe. Buddy. Cas.”

 

“‘Cas’ is perfectly fine,” Castiel said.

 

Dean chuckled. “‘Kay.”

 

Dean gave Castiel one last kiss, then looked down, reminding Castiel they were half-naked in public. Had they done this at midday, they would’ve been discovered before they even dared to begin. Thank heavens for the night, and the rain, and the steam that only emerged when it was cold. Thank heavens nobody had come outside to find them.

 

They stood together, tucking themselves in, then editing the other’s clothes to make sure there weren’t any visible smears anywhere. Dean was lucky: his t-shirt covered the worst stain. Castiel fussed with a drip that had caught on his thigh, until Dean assured him nobody would notice, given that he worked behind a wet bar. More obvious was the hickey on Dean’s neck.

 

“You freak,” Dean said playfully, touching the dark red mark.

 

“How dare you; you _let_ me,” Castiel retorted.

 

Dean just hummed, ducking his head. “So. Where to now?” he asked, reaching to straighten Castiel’s shirt. It was soaking and see-through, but hopefully customers would assume it was rain, not sweat.

 

“I have an hour left on my shift before I can lock up,” Castiel said, folding his shirtsleeves up again. “Are you planning on going home or...?”

 

“Best case, I go home with a cute guy,” Dean shrugged, giving Castiel a sidelong look. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind if it was you. If you wanted.”

 

Castiel smiled. “You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve waited for you to say that, Dean. I barely believe it myself.” Stepping close, feeling totally audacious, he took Dean’s collar in his fingertips, fiddling with it as he gazed at Dean’s lips. “I’m going to take you home, Dean. And I’ll have my way with you, all over again.”

 

Dean looked thrilled. But then his expression faltered. “You better be lookin’ for something long-term, or I swear to God—”

 

“Yes,” Castiel blurted. “Yes, please. Stop taking girls home every week. Please.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Huh... This whole time... that bothered you?”

 

Castiel nodded, frowning sadly. “Not your attraction, I can deal with that – I just didn’t like the fact it wasn’t _me_ you wanted to take home.”

 

Dean offered an apologetic smile, leaning to kiss Castiel chastely, both hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs ruffling patterns into his stubble. “No more taking girls home. It’s a deal,” he promised. “Sealed with a kiss. But for the record, Cas, I— I did kinda... fantasise... about wrestling with you. Naked. I-In my bed. Hopefully that makes up for somethin’.”

 

Castiel smiled, thrilled by the floaty feeling in his chest. “Perhaps it does, yes. And, uhm... Since we’re making deals, is there anything you want from me?”

 

Dean tipped his head, considering Castiel’s offer. “Free drink?”

 

Castiel chuckled, batting Dean’s head gently. “Free drink it is. On one condition.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You apologise to the customer you attacked, _and_ his girlfriend. If they left already, I’ll track them down on your behalf, and you write them a letter. Capiche?”

 

Dean nodded at the ground. “Yeah, I capiche.”

 

“Good man.” Castiel kissed Dean’s temple, then chuckled as Dean shoved his face away.

 

Castiel turned for the bar’s back door – but then paused, looking down at his hand. Dean had taken it, and was holding it.

 

Castiel looked up at Dean, surprised.

 

“Shut up,” Dean said, scowling. “I just got my first-ever boyfriend, and I’m gonna fucking _enjoy_ it, all right?!”

 

Castiel just smiled. He smiled widely, and happily, and perhaps a little smugly.

 

He was still smirking to himself by the time he locked up the bar that night, and his smirk only grew when Dean Winchester fell in step with him as made his way home. Though it was late, and Castiel had had a long day, he still had the energy to enjoy, let’s say, a very _specific_ kind of rough night.

 

(They were gentle in the morning, though. And that made Castiel smile, too.)

✖ 

**Author's Note:**

> Free cocktails for everyone who leaves kudos! (Cocktails may be distinctly air-like, but made with love regardless.)
> 
> Also, if you were totally into this, you may also like **[Sexier Than Doctor Sexy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1153455) **.**** Or [any of my other fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi/works), for that matter. ♥


End file.
